


Respire

by yeaka



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works & Related Fandoms, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Gen, Gen or Pre-Slash, M/M, Mild Hurt/Comfort, Vignette
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-02
Updated: 2017-05-02
Packaged: 2018-10-27 01:56:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 511
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10799286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Elves aren’t meant to be hidden under mountains, but that’s what Men are for.





	Respire

**Author's Note:**

> A/N: Fill for this week’s [silmread](http://silmread.tumblr.com/post/160170007595/24-a-journey-in-the-dark), wherein the company survives Moria. 
> 
> Disclaimer: I don’t own The Lord of the Rings or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

The little room feels cramped and stale, though Legolas can see none of its borders. He can’t see anything at all and hasn’t for hours, what feels like days, and the darkness has sunken deeper into his bones than he would’ve thought possible. He’s suffered starless nights before, but never _like this_ , where sneaking out to see the moon isn’t even an option. This is _true darkness_ , pitch black, with no hope of relief. It makes it difficult to sleep. He’s had easier times curled up under the glaring midday sun. 

Finally, he admits defeat and lies awake, listening to the oppressive silence around them, broken only by the breathing and snoring of the company. Gimli is the loudest, and the most comforting for it, though Legolas half expects the sound to be the death of them. He has half a mind to seek out Peregrin and take over the watch, but his bones cry for rest, and the dread adds to his weariness. He hoped to fare better than this.

Eventually, he pushes to his feet. There’s little good in lying in his misery. Instead, he creeps through the camp, slow and only step-by-step, having to feel with his toes and listen intently. He picks his way around the broad form of Boromir and about the shorter bodies of the halflings, steps over Gimli’s girth, and finds familiar fabric against his ankle. With a small sigh of relief, Legolas slinks back to the floor. His fingers reach out, searching a strong arm, up squared shoulders, and he squeezes there. He breathes, “Estel?”

Aragorn stirs. Legolas can feel it beneath his fingertips, and Aragorn’s breath hitches. His thicker fingers find Legolas’, and he wraps around them. The warmth spreads all up Legolas’ arm and does something to combat his latent fears. Aragorn has a way of doing that. He murmurs sluggishly, “What’s wrong?” A moment’s pause, and he amends derisively, “Besides everything.”

Legolas could almost laugh. He always tries to hold onto his mirth, but it’s difficult in this place, and even to smile would seem blasphemous. He admits, grave and vulnerable, “I miss the stars.”

“You’ll see them again.” Aragorn doesn’t miss a beat. He squeezes Legolas’ palm, and his other hand squirms from beneath his covers to pat Legolas’ forearm. Then it climbs Legolas’ body, crossing his slim chest to stroke along his throat and cup his chin. Aragorn thumbs his cheek, then weaves down into his hair, brushing it back. Legolas leans into the soothing touch. When the words come from Aragorn’s lips, Legolas could almost believe them.

He marvels at the strength of Men. For all the crushing night around them, Aragorn is calm. His touch is steady. Legolas basks in that. He squirms back along the floor so that when he stretches out, he can lay his head on Aragorn’s chest. The rhythmic beating of Aragorn’s heart is a welcome joy. The gentle rise and fall is comforting. Aragorn pets his hair again and cradles him close. 

Legolas shuts his eyes, and dreams find him easier.


End file.
